Too late.
Lanterns appeared around the cemetery.
One.
Three.
Six.
Nine.
Men stepped from the darkness with rifles.
Then Everett Carrow walked between them.
He was sixty-one years old.
Silver-haired.
Clean-shaven.
He wore a black coat despite the warm night.
Clara had met him dozens of times.
At church fundraisers.
At Christmas dinners.
At Thomas's funeral.
Carrow had held Clara's hands beside her husband's coffin and promised that whoever killed Thomas would be brought to justice.
Now he looked at her with almost paternal disappointment.
"Clara."
She felt sick.
Carrow glanced at the open tin box.
"Thomas always was sentimental."
Isaiah slowly shifted toward his rifle.
Three guns aimed at him.
Carrow noticed.
"I wouldn't."
Isaiah stopped.
Clara stood.
"You murdered my husband."
Carrow sighed.
"Thomas murdered himself the moment he forgot who had provided for him."
"You mean employed him."
"I mean protected him."
"You had Dunn shoot him."
Carrow tilted his head.
"Silas occasionally lacked restraint."
One of the armed men beside him looked away.
Clara recognized Sheriff Walter Keene.
That hurt almost as much as seeing Carrow.
"You too?"
Keene's face tightened.
"Hand over the books, Clara."
"How much did he pay you?"
"This is bigger than you understand."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
Carrow stepped closer.
"Because it is true."
He pointed toward the ranch.
"Do you imagine towns appear because good people wish for them? Roads? Rail lines? Banks? Wells?"
He looked around the cemetery.
"Territory is built by men willing to decide what weaker people cannot."
Clara held Thomas's letter.
"You stole their land."
"I consolidated failing properties."
"You forged debts."
"I prevented collapse."
"You killed people."
Carrow's expression barely changed.
"Progress has casualties."
Isaiah stared at him.
"My brother was eleven."
For the first time, irritation crossed Carrow's face.
"That fire was never intended to kill anyone."
Isaiah moved.
Six rifles lifted.
Clara stepped in front of him.
"No."
Carrow smiled faintly.
"Thomas did the same thing."
That stopped her.
"What?"
"He always believed standing between a weapon and someone else made him brave."
Carrow extended his hand.
"The ledgers."